Of Dusters, Duty, and Darkspawn
by Raven Jadewolfe
Summary: Follow Rainne, a rogue from Dust Town, as she leaves the life of a carta thug behind to become a Grey Warden. Language/Violence/Lemons
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing copyrighted!**

"Git yer lazy, good for nothin' arse out of bed and answer the sodding door!" her mother's drunken rant shocks Rainne into wakefulness.

"Why don't you do me and Rica a favor and go drown yourself in the nearest lava flow, you pickled hag?" the young duster bellows in retaliation as she rolls from her lumpy pallet and stretches her weary muscles, "That way, we could actually spend our hard earned money on some food instead of that sodding rotgut you suck down day in and day out?"

"You shouldn't say those things sister," Rica-her stunning and brilliant older sibling-gently chides as she breezes into the room and regards her via the hovel's sole mirror as she adjusts a few wayward strands of hair, "You are better than that."

The rogue brushes her coal colored bangs away from her silver blue eyes and scoffs, "You mean that you are better than that. I'm just another faceless goon of Beraht's. No thanks, I'll leave the proper manners to you."

Rica's aqua taffeta clad shoulders quiver with a wave of revulsion before she is able to suppress the reaction, "Speaking of, he just stopped by. He said that he's found a job for you and Leske. Something about missing lyrium. You should probably hurry, you know how he hates waiting for anything."

"I hate how that nugfucker pushes everyone around," the duster seethes even as she dons her leathers and straps on her trusty daggers, "One day he will get what's coming to him though. I just hope that I'm there when it happens, that way I'll finally get a chance to repay him for what he's done to you...and every other duster."

The hug from her flame haired sibling is swift, but heartfelt, "I completely agree, but until that day comes-or I find myself a wealthy patron-we have to keep our heads down, our hopes up, and play nice with Beraht."

After her sister relinquishes her surprisingly strong hold on her, Rainne slumps out of their shared bedchamber and passed their inebriated mother.

"I should have fed you to the deepstalkers when you were born, you worthless brat!" the bitter woman wails as her youngest child walks by.

"Maybe that's what I ought to do to you so I could finally get some peace and quiet around this dump!" she screams over her shoulder before stepping outside and slamming the door behind her.

A swarthy dwarf with hair plaited into short black braids nudges her after she closes her eyes and takes a dozen or so deep breaths to calm herself. "Your mum sure started early today. Did she rob a drunk client or something?"

Rainne opens her eyes with an annoyed roll and shrugs, "Or something. She and a few of the other washed up whores have taken up snorting crushed lyrium with a couple of clients who enjoy orgies and whatnot. That crap keeps her crazy as a rabid bronto for days every time."

"If they start eating each others faces for lunch, I'm exiling myself to the Deep Roads," Leske quips, ignoring the odd look a beggar aims his way, "Anyways, we have bigger problems than some face eating whores. The boss thinks some surfacer named Oskias is making deals topside and is refusing to share the wealth. Wants us to have a talk with him."

"I'm not going to kill some guy because he's not bowing down to Beraht," his friend growls as they slip through a hole in the wall that separates Dust Town from the rest of the city, "Then again I might just say sod it and ask him to take me and Rica to the surface with him."

Her fellow rogue gapes at her, a scandalous expression writ across his features, "And leave Orzammar behind? Me?"

Oblivious to the undertone coloring his words, the female duster gives a vehement nod, "Anything up there has to be better than this dung heap. You could come to, be my sister's bodyguard or something."

"And take the chance of falling into the sky? No thanks," he points a thick finger at the door to Tapster's Tavern, "Boss said that Oskias has been hiding out in there. Time to get your game face on."

To Rainne's utter dismay, Oskias turns out to be more of a sniveling coward rather than the dashing lyirum smuggler she'd envisioned, considering how the guy had braved the surface world. So much of a coward in fact that not only did he refuse to escort the other dwarves to the surface, he happily handed over two large nuggets of lyrium before vowing to never to return to Orzammar again and running off.

Utterly spineless.

The only upside to things is that by the end of the day, she and Leske are both fifteen silvers wealthier and still have a chunk of lyrium to placate Beraht with.

Such is a day in the life of a duster.


	2. Chapter 2

"I double dare you," Leske snickers while Rainne observes the lanky, dark skinned human that the higher castes are claiming is a Grey Warden, "Maybe he will fulfill your dreams of escaping topside."

"More likely to feed me to darkspawn, but what the hey. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" Rainne takes a steadying breath then-after steeling her spine and her resolve-proceeds to march over to the stoic Greycloak.

"Are you really a Grey Warden?" the question is out before her courage is given a chance to deflate.

The human's eyes shine with surprise at her sudden inquiry, though his demeanor remains calm, "Yes I am. My name is Duncan and I command the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. How may I be of assistance Ser Dwarf?"

She furtively glances around, then waves the man closer, "Is there any way I could possibly convince you to take my sister and I to the surface with you when you leave? There is this crime lord, Beraht, who is forcing my sister to do things and does terrible things to here when she fails. I've tried to help her, but I'm not strong enough."

Duncan scrutinizes her for a moment, "Why not report this to the city guard?"

Rainne touches the tattoo that she's carefully faded over the years, "This mark means that we're casteless. Less valuable than dirt. One of us could be murdered in the middle of the Commons and all anyone would say is that the duster deserved it. Look, all I really give a damn about is my sister Rica. If you would just take her with you, I'd be happy. I-"

"I am here in search of recruits," he muses, absently stroking at his beard, "Perhaps I might be able to assist you."

He quickly explains the nature of the day's Proving, then when Rainne reveals her true reason for coming to the arena, he encourages her to find a way into the tournament so that he may pick her as his chosen recruit.

With her course set, the duster returns to her partner in crime, hand extended with her palm turned upward.

"What took you so long?" her friend nervously prods after handing over five silver and they have resumed the search to find their missing target.

"I was asking him about the crazy stuff Grey Wardens get up to, besides going down to the Dep Roads when they want to die," she glibly evades and gestures towards a door that has Everd's name painted on it.

Inside they discover the warrior is falling down drunk, and an idea comes to Rainne.

"Go find Mainar and drug him," she commands, pressing the sedative into her comrades hand, "I'll deal with this mess."

"How do you plan on doing that? He is stone drunk!" her friend's tone is dubious.

"I'm going to—Aha! Got it!" she trumpets as the lock of the armor chest gives way, "I'm going to put his armor on and fight in his place."

Leske stares at her blankly for a few seconds-dumbfounded-then shakes his head and grins, "It's so stupid, it just might work. Luck luck salroka!"

He's out the door before she can formulate a reply.


	3. Chapter 3

It was over. Finally. She had defeated every opponent that they threw at her. She'd won the Proving. Until that drunken sod had stumbled out, waving his arms and shouting gibberish, and ruined everything.

As the guards manacled her hands, she holds her head high, even smiling when Duncan raises his right fist to his chest and bows to her.

Whatever happens from here on out, Rainne resolves that no one will be able to strip the victory from her. The girl who spat in the face of tradition and proved what a dusters meddle could be made of, if they were given a chance.

She doesn't feel the poisoned blade nick her hand.

The putrid odors of rot and old piss greet the duster as her head swims awake. Rough, moldy straw scraping at her skin alerts Rainne to the removal of her armor and-as she opens her eyes-the presence of thick iron bars betrays the fact that she is indeed in a cell instead of her ramshackle abode in Dust Town.

She sits up with a groan and cradles her thumping her skull until Leske's voice startles her from the next cell over, ""Bout sodding time you woke up. I figure the Boss is going to be here any minute to finish the job."

"What happened?" she softly inquires, the sound of her own voice exacerbating her headache.

"Beraht had a few of the guards on his payroll," the other dwarf elaborates in a flat tone, "I tried to get to you, but they caught me and threw me in here too. Thanks for that by the way. Now we're both going to die."

Forcing the pain into her peripheral, she pushes to her feet and scans the area outside of the cells, "Stop being so melodramatic. I'll get us out of here, one way or another."

In lieu of answering, Leske opts to sit and pout, though his eyes follow her while she systematically scours the bars and stone walls for any weak points.

"I wouldn't do that, were I you," A new voice warns as Beraht's second in command-a cold and calculating woman named Jarvia-saunters in, a guard marching after her, "You're already in a dung heap of trouble, why make things worse on yourself? Or that pretty little whore sister of yours?"

Rainne spits at the other woman, "Are you here to kill me, or are you just going to stand there and run your mouth now that these bars are stopping me from kicking your ass this time?"

"Oh no, I'm simply here to collect what is mine," Jarvia taunts as the guard unlocks Leske's cell and shoves her friend towards the corrupt lieutenant, " There you are. Come along pet, you can fill me in on the particulars of her little plan."

The duster gawkes at her comrade and a little black wave of hurt, confusion, and anger washes over her as her once best friend silently mouths an apology to her, collects his belongings from a chest, then scuttles after the cruel woman.

She watches them leave and stays her hand as the guard lewdly gives her a looking over, then follows after the pair.

When all is quiet, the rogue expertly sifts through the tangled mess of her ink black locks and digs out her emergency set of lockpicks. She works slowly to prevent any unwanted attention and minutes later the door swings open with nary a squeak from its hinges.

Silent as a shadow, the rogue creeps over and retrieves her gears, then takes extra care to divest the box of equipment whose previous owners are no doubt beyond needing them again. As she slinks her way through the maze of tunnels, she finds and frees nearly a dozen other victims of Beraht's twisted games.

In the end, Beraht dies alone, Jarvia and Leske having abandoned the kingpin long before Rainne's angry arrival.

The freed prisoners rush towards the hidden exit, breaking down a false wall, then flooding a shop in their eagerness to leave their nightmare behind. Rainne trails behind the prisoners, silent as they flow out into the Commons. The ramifications of Leske's betrayal and Beraht's death finally crashing down on her as she reaches the street.

"Seize that filth! She the one who sullied the Proving!"

"But she saved us and killed Beraht!" on of the female victims shouts.

"She's a hero!" another bugles, falling into a protective stance in front of Rainne, refusing to back down as a band of guards come forward to take her into custody.

"Excuse me, but that is my recruit whom you are attempting to arrest," Duncan calmly states, his height making him tower ominously over her would be jailers.

A stout warrior raises the face plate of his helm, "But she's nothing but a worthless duster! Surely you can find someone more deserving of this honor!"

"She defeated what were deemed Orzammar's best and brightest with hardly an injury to show for it," the human defends with a spark of irritation, "I graciously thank you, but I have found what I was seeking and it resides in this young woman."

Rainne moves to his side and murmurs, "What about my sister? I won't go without her."

The Greycloak retrieves an envelope from the inside of his breastplate and hands it to her, "It seems that your sister has found a patron worthy of her attentions. The letter will explain things, but we must leave now for your protection."

"Can't I even say goodbye?" her voice wavers and the dwarf inwardly cringes at how whiny she sounds, "Please?"

Duncan shakes his head. I am truly sorry, but no. The warrant for your arrest is being contested as we speak, but I fear few will respect the Right of Conscription just yet."

Noticing that she still holds the broken hilt of a long sword, the Commander produces a mace from his pack and presses it into her hands, "Take this to protect yourself with. I will secure better equipment for you once we reunite with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

"And where will that be?" she asks while trying to keep up with his longer stride.

"We have a few stops to make, but our ultimate destination will be Ostagar," the man reveals just as the city gates come into view.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you alright Rainne?" Duncan asks for probably the hundredth time since the sun first breached the horizon and his new recruit experienced her first panic attack of the day.

"You're not going to fall into the sky. You're not going to fall into the sky," the young rogue mumbles under her breath and pulls the cloak hood over her eyes a little farther for good measure, "I'm not sure that I can do this Duncan. Maybe you should just take me back and leave me to my fate."

The human rumbles a soft chuckle, "Nonsense girl. You simply have to acclimate to the surface. It is nothing to be ashamed of Rainne."

"Tell me about where we are heading then. I need to start learning about this sodding place if I'm going to be living up here from now on," she squints at him from under her hood, "And I also need to know more about the Grey Wardens."

"Not an unreasonable request," he acquiesces and begins teaching her about both the lands of Thedas and the Order.

Over the ensuing weeks, the Warden Commander keeps Rainne occupied as they travel to Rainesfere, West Hill, Redcliffe, Kinloch Hold, and Highever.

Redcliffe allots them Ser Jory, the Circle Towers offers Neria Surana, and Highever produces Gabriel Cousland-along with his mabari Ox-despite the tragedy that instigated his recruitment.

Duncan enters the city of Denerim alone while the others take the time to rest and recuperate from the brutal pace their Commander set after they fought their way out of Gabriel's home. He later returns with a cart laden with supplies, a rogue named Daveth, a young elven widower named Rory Tabris, and a fuming Gabriel-who had gone off to plead to some of the other nobles for retribution against Rendon Howe.

Soon enough though, the band treks through the Brecillian Forest, which adds a quiet Dalish archer by the name of Ash to their ever growing numbers. After that is Gwaren, where a Grey Warden messenger finds them.

The king of Ferelden is requesting the Warden Commander's presence immediately.


	5. Chapter 5

Ostagar, even laying in ruins, is still in better shape than any part of Dust Town.

Rainne brushes off the weary complaints of the others and sets out to explore the King's camp a bit before having to seek out the Alistair fellow Duncan had instructed all of them to find.

After conversing with Wynne-a senior Circle mage-she covertly releases an accused deserter in return for a key to a mage's chest, insults a Chantry sister who scoffed and belittled her dwarven beliefs when she politely turned down the offers of blessings, and helps the kennel master with an injured mabari before giving him a promise to search for a healing flower in the Wilds, should she go that way.

Now Rainne finds herself watching a young human warrior as he jokingly tells an irritated mage that he planned on naming his firstborn after the other man. She idly stands by, waiting for the blonde man to conclude his business before stepping forward.

"Don't you just love how a Blight brings us all together?" he jovially banters, tucking his thumbs into his knife belt, "Maybe we ought to stand in a circle, holding hands as we sing campfire songs. It would certainly give the darkspawn something to think about...Wait, have we met yet? You're one of the new recruits, aren't you?"

"Guilty as charged," she sticks a hand out, "I'm Rainne. Rainne Brosca. You must be the Alistair Duncan has told us all about. It's nice to finally put a face to the name after the last few months."

"Yes, that was one of the names. Now I remember," Alistair shakes her hand emphatically, "Don't believe a word he said, unless it was about how talented, stylish, and utterly handsome I am. The rest is all lies concocted by the dogs who raised me until they learned that I'd rather eat cheese than make it."

"Well, he might have neglected to tell us about the dogs, but I'm almost positive that he did mention you were easy on the eyes," the duster grins and peers around him, "He also didn't bother to tell us that you had such a nice ass to go with that pretty face."

Unexpectedly, the man's face promptly flushes red as a ruby vein and he staggers a few steps back to block her view of his rump, "Erm, yeah, um, since you're the last to report in, I have to go uh, talk to Duncan about a few things. I'll just be erm, over there until the blushing stops."

He backs away hastily, only willing to turn his back on her when he is halfway down the stone ramp.

"He does that. A lot," a dark skinned human woman in blackened leather armor chortles as she meanders over to the confused dwarf, "Alistair lived in a monastery with nothing but other men for company from the time he was ten years old, so the only knowledge he has of women has either come from ridiculously outdated texts, or in the last six months since he joined the order. I'm Bettina, I was at Alistair's Joining, and I will oversee yours as well."

"Rainne. Pleasure to meet you," she shakes the other woman's hand, giving the dwarf a chance to notice the human's mismatched blue and black eyes, "So, willing to give a poor duster information about this mysterious ritual? Daveth thinks it's going to involve an orgy, Jory is terrified that we'll have to sacrifice a goat or something, and Neria believes that it might just be a swearing in. Personally I wouldn't mind the orgy, but the booze had better be good."

Bettina laughs and rubs a thin hand over her shaved head, "Wow. Nice ideas, wish I'd thought of them. It's a loaded question though. Um, I can tell you that yes it will be scary, yes it's going to hurt a fair bit, and yes it is worth every moment of pain. Everything else has to wait until after your induction, I'm sorry to say. Warden secrets, they're kind of a big deal you know."

"Gee, that was a whole lot of nothing," the rogue smirks, following the elder Warden through the bustling camp, "And here I was really hoping that Duncan was being all elusive because he's the guy in charge and he enjoys confusing the stones out of people."

"Just think of if like this, once you're in, it will then be your turn to confound any new recruits that come along," her companion exaggerates a wink, "But yes, I also think that our illustrious leader also enjoys being so enigmatic with everyone."

"Bettina, what are you doing up from the camp?" the man in question inquires less than a minute later as the women enter the golden halo that surrounds the bonfire, "Is something wrong?"

The human woman offers a respectful nod of the head, though her eyes glimmer with something more, "Just came to update you Ser. Reginald says that everything is ready, all we need is a vial from each recruit. Dyna said that she will be sending that cart of equipment up as soon as Mallory finishes up the last of the poultices you asked for. Also, Rinus and Sylvia have sent word that they have finally made it to the border. They will have at least twenty five Wardens at their backs when they return."

"Good, good," Duncan smiles his approval, his own visage unconsciously betraying his fondness for his fellow Greycloak, "Have Nihlus and Cera returned as of yet?"

Bettina's smile dims ever so slightly, "They have, and they're waiting in your tent to debrief you. So who shall be taking the pups out on their milk run?"

"Alistair will be, he is ready," he serenely responds, but Rainne can see that his mind has begun to race, "Though with a group as sizable as this one, I was contemplating on whether to send a second to help him manage things."

"I'll do it. I did grow up amongst the Chaisnd after all, we're used to large groups of crazy people and wandering monsters," Bettina shrugs, her mismatched eyes drifting over the gathered recruits, "It couldn't be any worse than my own trial and you know that. Besides, this will give us one more chance to find those treaties, yes?"

The Commander nods in agreement, "You are correct. I've already explained things to Alistair and the others, they can fill the two of you in on the way. Now, I must go see Nihlus and Cera before trekking down to the camp and making a few adjustments that Teyrn Loghain has requested. Be careful, and may the Maker watch over you all."

"You mean I don't get to eat a hot meal first?" Neria tiredly simpers as Duncan retreats and the senior Wardens give the order to move out.

"Yeah, that would have been nice," Rory concurs while Alistair approaches a guardsman at the gate, "I can smell the roasting pigs from here and it's making my stomach growl."

Rainne blows out a quiet sigh and hands over a couple of meat pies she'd snagged earlier, "You know, Ash doesn't complain nearly as much as you two so it must be a city elf thing."

The Dalish archer gives her a silent smile as they march out of the camp.

Once outside of the gates, Alistair and Bettina proceed to split them into two groups. Gabriel, Neria, Rory, and Ash will accompany Bettina, leaving Daveth, Jory, and Rainne with the less experienced Alistair, who coincidentally still cannot look the duster in the eye without blushing twelve shades of red, especially if he catches her walking behind him.

All day-and into the night-the men squabble and boast, leaving Rainne unhindered to seek out the flower she'd promised, often referring to a sketch of the bloom that the kennel-master had been kind enough to draw for her on a pilfered sheaf of vellum.

By a stroke of luck, she finds a cluster of them growing out of a rotting log while they are setting camp. As instructed, she meticulously binds them in a piece of cheesecloth, then presses them between the pages of a book on Ferelden hounds that the gentle human had given her upon seeing her enthusiasm for the canines.

Just as she tucks the book into her pack, Daveth wanders over, a jar of sweet smelling cream in his hands, "Here. I thought you might need this for your sunburn. It's looking a lot better, but I imagine it's still giving you a bit of trouble."

"Thank you salroka," she smiles and begins applying the balm to her skin the way Neria had taught her to.

"What does salroka mean? Devilishly handsome, I hope," the human rogue jests as he eases himself to the ground in front of her pallet, "Or maybe that I'm the love of your life and you can't ever possibly envision living without me ever again."

Rainnes slathers a bit of the thick cream on her nose as she snickers, "You wish. Salroka actually means friend in old dwarvish. Not many speak the old language anymore, but a few words still manage to persist."

For the next hour, the pair ends up exchanging various words and phrases that are commonly used in their respective cultures. Daveth also teases Rainne about her misspelled name, which was bestowed upon her by her sister and a client of their mother's, a man who had terrible grammar and was quite possibly the girls father.

By the time Daveth finally slinks off to find his own bed, the other companions have long since retired.


	6. Chapter 6

Early the next morning, while the quartet is striking camp, they are ambushed by over a dozen darkspawn who are being led by a magic wielding emissary. The fight turns long and bloody very quickly, with Daveth taking an arrow to the shoulder, Alistair's nose being broken by a mace, and Rainne suffering a broken wrist.

Ser Jory is nowhere to be found.

"Do you think he might have panicked and made a run for it?" Rainne inquires as they scour the sulfuric fens for the wayward knight, "I mean he was twitchy to begin with, and he kept blabbing about his wife and nugget back in Highever. Maybe he decided that he was better off going home and helping rebuild."

"I sincerely hope not, for his sake," Alistair replies, his tone thick with strained anxiety as his hazel gaze flits over the marshland, "Andraste's flaming knickers, Duncan's going to kill me for this."

"Why would he be angry at you? It's not your fault that the git swanned off and left us high and dry," Daveth argues as he slings his bow over his shoulder, then lifts a darkspawn's daggers and tests their weight, "Duncan shoulda known something was up with Jory when he began waxing poetic about the honor and glory he'd receive as a Grey Warden. 'Course I don't think Jory would have been here at all if he hadn't been one of Gabriel's guards, but that's just me."

"Regardless, we have to find him before something bad happens," the Templar states before they gather the remnants of their belongings and press onward into the foggy morning.

The sun is laying low in the western sky when Daveth, by chance, notices something laying mostly submerged in one of the many pools bubbling with foul, oily water. After their encounter with the injured soldier earlier in the day and subsequent discovery of the massacred caravan, they waste no time trying to help the person.

Unfortunately they are far too late to help them.

The two men haul the carcass out of the water while Rainne keeps an eye out for scavengers or darkspawn. When the poor sod's shield emerges, bearing the heraldic standard of Highever, all lingering doubts are squashed. Ser Jory is dead.

"What a way to go, the poor bastard. He fell into the water and his armor dragged him under," Daveth morosely comments after they resign themselves to returning the body of their fallen comrade to the murky pool.

"I think I know why he ran," Alistair says as he rises from his quiet prayers at the water's edge, "He'd been infected with the taint, I can tell by the discolored blotches on his skin. I know this may be hard for you to believe, but this ending was much better than what could have been in store for him."

"If you say so," the other man answers, "But drowning is never a pretty thing. Nearly had it happen to myself once, when I was a lad."

The Templar looks out over the swamps and blows out a loud sigh, "Let's get moving, we still have the treaties-and the other group-to find."

A little while later Rainne gives up on trying to read the blasted map and gives their brooding Grey Warden a gentle nudge, "Don't you think we ought to start looking for a place to camp since it's going to be dark soon? I mean since you are the one who is constantly stressing to us how dangerous it is to traverse thew Wilds after dark."

The Templar stares her down for a few moments, then slowly nods in agreement, "Yes, you're right. Up on the top of that hill there seems to be some ruins that could give us a bit of protection. Maybe some of its roof will be intact as well, the wind is beginning to smell like rain."

The dwarf volunteers to search the area for any hidden traps that the darkspawn are so fond of using while Daveth and Alistair gather two meager bundles of dry firewood, but only after the junior Warden assures them that the crumbling walls and low slung stone roof of the structure should prevent anything from seeing their fire.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Right as they are mopping up their dinner of stewed rabbit and wild mushrooms poured over travelers bread, Alistair tilts his head in a weird way, then the camp is flooded with angry darkspawn who burst out of the soggy ground.

Daveth is cut down before he can reach his blades and Alistair is dragging Rainne out of the melee before she can charge after her friend's corpse.

"He's dead Rainne! And we will be too if we don't get out of here right now!" the warrior roars when she struggles to get free from his iron grip.

"Dammit!" she spits, hating that he is right, "Let's get out of here."

They have to fight trough a handful of the shrieking monsters, until the path is clear enough to creep away from the larger horde.

Exhausted and soaked to the bone by the icy drizzle, the pair stumbles on through the night, relying on Rainne's natural survival instincts and Alistair's Warden senses to steer them away from any other wandering packs of darkspawn.

It is only in the gray gloom of pre-dawn that luck finally smiles upon them again and they literally stumble into an encampment full of familiar faces, plus an odd looking human woman neither of them immediately recognize.

"What in the Black City happened to you?" Bettina demands worriedly as she and Neria scurry to heal their various wounds and abrasions, "Where are Jory and Daveth?"

"Darkspawn attacked our camp twice in a row. I was...distracted the first time. Last night though, I felt something, but couldn't place it until they came up out of the ground," Alistair confesses while gingerly touching his mended nose, "Daveth was killed instantly last night. We lost Jory during the first attack, he fell in a bog and his armor dragged him down before we could save him."

Rainne follows his lead and keeps mum about the knight's taint and obvious attempt at desertion, instead choosing to change the subject, "Did you find the treaties?"

Bettina motions to a haversack that Ash is wearing, "All four of them, safe and sound. Turns out that the enchantments that were protecting them-and was supposed to help us find them-failed some time ago. This young woman and her mother found them, thought they looked important, and have been waiting to hand them over to the Greylcoaks ever since."

"that's...convenient," the duster finally concedes, her silver blue gaze on her newly healed wrist as she tests its strength, "Please tell me that we can go back to camp now. Alistair and I have nothing but out blades and the clothes on our backs...and I don't want to lose anyone else on this sodding quest."

The Chaisnd woman bobs her head, understanding etched on to her face, "We will set out as soon as the camp is dismantled and packed away. Don't worry leanbh, according to Morrigan, we should be back to our brethren by lunch today."

It takes the better part of an hour to outfit the duo with bits of scavenged armor and tear down the camp, but eventually the companions set out.

As they travel, Rainne is fortunate enough to find another cluster of blooms for the kennel-master while Bettina and Alistair spend their time arguing in agitated whispers at the rear of the group.

A rush of relief washes over everyone as the gates of the king's camp come into sight, though Rainne's joy is abruptly shattered when she hears Alistair quietly exclaim, "Maker's breath Bettina, even Rainne makes a better leader than me and she's only been on the surface a few months!"

The human woman rushes to assuage the bereaved man, "Alis, Daveth and Jory's deaths were not your fault. You did all that was in your power to protect them, but no one-not you, not me, not Duncan-could have fended off that many darkspawn and not taken at least a few casualties along the way. Try looking at it this way, now you won't have to fret about them dying during the Joining. They died fairly quickly, and in far less pain, than they would have otherwise. Need proof of that? Look back at your own Joining."

"I...you're right. As always," the young warrior glumly admits, then glances over at Rainne as she hastily veers off to meet the kennel-master, "I still think they would've made it had she been the one in charge."

"Too late to worry about such things now," the mage lamely replies and tugs on his arm, "Let us go find Duncan."

The duster loses the rest of their conversation as the mabari handler excitedly explains how the flowers will be ground up, then mixed into a salve and applied to the mabaris wounds, giving it-and its fellow canines-a much better of recovering than before.

She only half listens to his words, until he insists that she return after the battle in order to find out if the hound is willing to bond with her. "Do you think that could really happen? I've wanted a mabari since I first saw one on my third day up here."

"I don't see why not. Mabari are as smart as your average tax collector, and this one is well aware you are the person who went out of her way to help he and his friends," the human smiles warmly down at her as she checks on the wounded dog she'd helped muzzle days before, "Just give him a day or two to rest and then we'll confirm what I am already certain of."

"Two days, got it," Rainne answers with a smile of her own, then jogs off to find her companions.

**Translations**

**leanbh—irish gaelic for child**


	7. Chapter 7

**I still own nothing copyrighted.**

**And you can still find me on deviant art under Raven Jadewolfe, where I post stories, artwork, and other random things.**

The Joining hurts more than anything Rainne has ever felt, up to and including the acid wash she has used over the years to fade the brand on her right cheek.

The first words she hears after the terrible agony and haunting images recede are from Bettina. "Hey, I think she's waking up. Can I poke her with a stick to make sure she's done cooking?"

"Only if I get to poke back," the dwarf rasps in a feeble attempt at humor as Alistair scurries to help her to her feet.

"Rainne, are you alright?" the concern in his gaze is palpable, and a little unsettling for the duster.

But in spite of the grimace currently distorting her features, she gives him a thumbs up, "Just peachy, as you are fond of saying. I've had hangovers worse than this...I just need a few minutes to sort myself out."

With the hand not holding her upright, the Templar shows her a silver pendant that portrays two silver griffons grasping a blood red crystal, "This is for you, it's call the Warden's Oath. We fill it with a little blood from the chalice and give one to each new Warden. All Grey Wardens have one. It serves to remind us of those...who didn't make it this far."

She inclines her head so he can slip the chain over her head, giving her a perfect view of Duncan's scuffed boots as he walks over, "How are you feeling Rainne?"

"Like a herd of drunk brontos did a quadrille on my head," she chuckles, then winces as she pulls her ponytail from under the chain, "But I'll be okay soon enough. Did everyone..."

"Survive? Yes. Truly a fortunate turn of events. It is seldom that a group so large suffers no fatalities. This is the first I have been witness to, truth be told," the Warden Commander confesses, "Unfortunately we have little time to celebrate our good fortune, as the king wishes to congratulate the newest Greycloaks personally. You are the last to awaken, so we will leave as soon as you feel ready."

Her pale eyes dart around the ruin and learns, with some amusement, that her comrades appear every inch as rough as she feels. "Lead the way boss," she finally announces, pushing away from Alistair to stand of her own volition.

A slight twitch at the right edge of the Commander's mustache betrays his own humor, then gestures for the newly minted Grey Wardens to follow him to the far side of the encampment.

~C~H~A~P~T~E~R~B~R~E~A~K~

Between her throbbing head and the multitude of clashing voices resonating around her, she can make out almost nothing of what is actually being said. To her, it sounds like they will be playing host to a party of Orlesians, possibly in a tower on a hill, and quite likely to be joined by a harem well endowed Rivaini dancers.

And from the looks that King Cailan is continuously flashing at Alistair, the duster can't help but calculate the chances of those dancers being an all male troupe. Too bad the buzzing in her ears make even that thought a painful blur.

After giving up on her fifth attempt to ask her fellow Wardens what in the hell is being said, that persistent buzzing noise swells to ear-bleeding decibels...then a massive flaming ball crashes into the stone table standing in the middle of the cluster of screaming people and explodes.

"We're under attack! Move!" someone bellows as Rainne picks herself up out of the mud and begins sprinting towards the gate that leads to the valley below.

"Rainne, no!" Duncan roars over the cacophony, "Find who you can, then make for the tower of Ishal and get that beacon lit now!"

She remembers Duncan pointing out the decrepit structure when they arrived a few days before and alters her course without slowing.

Her short legs are swept out from beneath her by the impact of another blazing mass just as she begins crossing the stone bridge. When she stands, she recognizes a familiar form rolling on the ground, attempting to extinguish their burning arm.

"Alistair!" she keens and rushes to help him.

The Templar thanks her after patting out the last lick of flame and she helps him get to his feet, "We have to get to the tower. Loghain needs to send in his reinforcements right now."

"I know, Duncan said to light the beacon as soon as we reach it," she confesses, then abruptly pushes him into the balustrade and does a backroll herself to avoid a third burning projectile as it hurtles by, "There has to be and easier way to get there!"

"I swear, if you ask me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold to distract them for you, I am officially drawing the line," he jokes as they run, his lighthearted tone a complete contradiction to the grim look set on his face.

"Aww spoilsport," Rainne pouts after they vault over a shattered pillar, "And here I was hoping I'd get to see how fancy your footwork is."

"Okay, maybe for you I'd do it," he pauses to check on an unmoving guard before shifting his gaze back to her, "But it would have to be a pretty dress. I'm talking about the ruffles, lace, and rhinestones kind of pretty or you can forget the whole thing."

"You're still a spoilsport, ruining all my –," she forgoes the rest of her jibe as a handful of frantic guards mob them, all begging for assistance.

They endure wave after seemingly endless wave of fresh, angry darkspawn that pour out of the tower's entrance for so long that the icy tempest raging around them transforms into thick frosted flakes of something that Alistair calls snow.

Rainne is still scoffing at yet another addition to her friend's arsenal of made up words when cheering spontaneously blooms from the battlefield around her. Taking a hint from the others flanking her, she tilts her head back to discover that the beacon-which resides on the uppermost floor of the tower-has been set alight, its flames streaking scarlet tendrils high into the night sky.

The victory is short lived though, because as swiftly as they'd began celebrating, the soldiers start screaming in vain at the sea of torches that are retreating from the far hill instead of pressing forward into the fray.

The events unfurl in less than a minute, but it is enough time for the horde to gain the upper hand over the Grey Wardens and their allies. One, two, five, then twenty defenders fall under darkspawn blades in rapid succession before the warriors are compelled to forfeit their hard earned ground and make a desperate run for the outer gates.

As they scurry into the forest, Rainne pauses to take a final look at the unheeded beacon and wonders which unlucky sods made it to the top.

The duster thumps her right fist to her chest and bows, "Atrast tunsha. May the Stone welcome you home, my brothers and sisters."

The tears, freezing in long tracks down her face, are brushed away as she swivels on her heels and jogs after Alistair and the others.


	8. Chapter 8

Dawn finds the cluster of downtrodden survivors trudging through a frozen wonderland that apparently sprang up over night.

Rainne does her best to prevent her teeth from chattering, but a lifetime of living in an underground city warmed by numerous lava flows has left her completely unsuited for the sudden bout of arctic weather.

Neria-whom they found wandering aimlessly during the night-tries to keep her friend warm with spells, but the dwarf's inborn resistance to magic retards the effects and makes it nearly impossible for the bubble of warmth to last more than a few minutes at a time.

"Wardens! Wardens, we've found another one! It's an elven lad and he's been mightily injured!" a soldier anxiously booms, inciting the trio to dart after him.

Alistair arrives first, of course, and instantly draws his shield and longsword protectively over Neria as she inspects the person. By the time Rainne catches up a minute later, the mage has nearly completed her first healing spell. She tries to get a look at the man, but Neria has already covered him with her own cloak.

It is not long before others crowd around the mage and her patient, giving the two other Wardens leave to take several steps back from the group and relax their guard a bit.

"It's Rory," the Templar reveals a few minutes later, while they start to piece together a crude litter to carry the elf in, "His leg has been badly broken and he's taken a nasty blow to the head. Neria is confident she can thoroughly heal him though, given enough time to properly restore her depleted mana reserves. I'm a little concerned though, those wounds don't look like...Nevermind."

When he makes no indication of continuing his line of thought, the duster pauses in her work and huffs in annoyance, "They didn't look like what? Spit it out or I'm going to poke you with this stick until you do."

"They didn't look like they were inflicted by darkspawn weapons," he finishes after another few seconds of silent deliberation, most likely to determine how serious his friend is about jabbing him with a bit of wood, "The wounds are too clean, too precise. If I didn't know better, I'd say they'd come from a human. Right height, correct depth..."

"Loghain, covering his tracks," she spits on the snow, "It makes me wonder if he is in league with that rat bastard who killed off Gabriel's family. All of this reeks of politics."

"And how would you know what politics were like?" a soldier dubiously challenges, "It's not like a dwarf would know much about how we do things up here."

She shifts her pale eyes to meet his own and offers him a razor sharp smile, "Because dwarves learn to play the game of politics from the day they are born, no matter what caste they are. Cloudhead politics smell exactly the same as below...like a cart full of week old shit. Not to mention they all fuck people over the same way...without lube or a courtesy reach around."

If the situation were not so dire, the duster would laugh out loud at the lovely scarlet hue the innocent Templar turns upon getting an earful of her crass verbiage.

It is Neria-to no one's surprise-who recovers first, "Well, we're all going to be royally screwed if we don't find some kind of shelter soon. One of the scouts mentioned that there may be a disused barn not far from where we are presently. At least she remembers passing one on her way to Ostagar. It's worth a shot, in my opinion, because we need to get these people somewhere out of the elements before frostbite starts setting in."

Rainne immediately mumbles her agreement, but makes an effort to include the still flustered young human, "What do you think?"

"Erm, whatever you want to do is good with me," he murmurs, his mint and honey tinted gaze firmly affixed to something over her right shoulder, "I mean, if that's what's best for Rory and the others."

"Way to take charge there Alistair," the elven mage snipes under her breath as they start moving again, "It's not like you're the senior Warden or anything."

"A senior Warden who has had it beat into him for most of his life that his job is to follow any and all orders given to him and not think for himself," Rainne corrects her friend before pressing on to walk alongside Rory's litter.

Several men, wounded but walking, share the task of carrying said litter through the forest as they warily navigate their way through the icy woods and to the abandoned structure.

Inside they collectively surmise that it is too dangerous to build a fire and many resort to stuffing their armor with musty hay taken from the loft. Others share their precious pots of salve which protect one from the cold and ice.

Rainne eventually secures an almost windless spot-after ensuring the others have settled in-wedging herself between a corner and Alistair's larger bulk as he maintains a watchful vigil through the slats of a shutter.

Being too short to help keep the watch in the same manner as her comrade, she slides down the wall and on to her rump before closing her eyes, "Wake me when it's my turn."

One corner of his mouth curls upward in a lopsided grin, she can tell by the mischievous tone of his voice, "I thought you were a firm believer that sleep was something only the dead indulged in?"

She shrugs tiredly, "We will all probably be dead by this time tomorrow, so I'm sure the Ancestors wouldn't mind me getting a bit of a headstart."

He rolls his eyes at her, but refrains from replying until she is on the far edges of wakefulness, "What do you think we ought to do? We can't keep running like this forever, with no food and no supplies to keep us."

"Other than march our happy arses up to Loghain's front door and kill him a lot?" she snorts, not bothering to open her eyes, "I'd say that we wait for the horde to pass us, then sneak back to the camp at Ostagar. Ransack the site for supplies, food, whatever, and make sure we get those sodding treaties in hand, then we can run off and do what Grey Wardens do best. Kill lots of fucking darkspawn. Our fallen comrades deserve no less than our best efforts until we join them."

"You don't sound worried about that at all, it's a little creepy."

She shrugs again, "If you can accept the inescapable truth that you are most definitely going to die one day-and this might be the day it happens-you develop a tendency to see things more clearly."

His armor creaks in protest as he shifts position, then is quiet for some time before asking, "So is that it? The big secret behind all of your bravado? You're really not afraid of dying?"

This time she does peer up at him, "And why should I be Alistair? Of the few things I am absolutely certain of, I know for damn sure that not a single one of us is going to make it out alive in the end, so why should I waste what time I do have worrying about it? Be more concerned about how you manage the time that you have right now rather than fret over what comes after."

"You know, you're pretty damn smart," the Templar's smile is more genuine this time, "Smarter than me, that's for sure. That's why I think you should be in charge of all of this."

"Alistair, you are naive, not stupid. You have a brilliant mind when you let yourself use it, rather than falling back on the standard 'shut up and mime a statue' mentality the Templars drummed into you," Rainne counters, a hint of irritation bleeding into her tone, "And since we're talking about naivete, you always expect people to be as honorable as you are. That is an impossible dream that will leave you a bitter man before too long."

"Why would you say that?" his entire being oozes hurt as he prods her, "Why shouldn't I expect the best out of people?"

"You want the truth I'm guessing? Fine," she sighs in resignation as he nods, "The truth is that 99% of the people you will meet during the course of your life are out for number one. Themselves. Their goals, their ambitions, their dreams. Occasionally their goals with intersect with anothers and they will work in cohesion for a time, but never never delude themselves into thinking that they won't be betrayed the instant the other person feels that their goals are once again more important than their partners. Cohorts. Whatevers."

"And are you the same way?" he half questions, half accuses.

Rainne bobs her head, "Of course I am. We all are salroka, to an extent. Look at how you treated that Morrigan girl in comparison to how you treat Neria, and it is all because Morrigan shared none of your goals or beliefs. Better yet, remember how kind Ser Jory was until he found out that Daveth and I were just common criminals?"

"But he believed that joining the Grey Wardens was an honor and a privilege, not a way to escape lawful judgment."

"That is exactly my point. We treat people better or worse, depending on how useful we deem them to be and how closely their goals resemble our own. It's the same way everywhere, no matter how far you go. The sooner you can accept that, the better off you'll be in the end," she flicks a gesture of dismissal, "But that is just my opinion, for what it's worth. Take it or leave it as you see fit."

Alistair stares out the window for a long time, just long enough for his comrade to become drowsy again, before shocking her awake again. "So why are you being so nice to me then? What use am I, to you?"

"I had a crappy life, growing up in Dust Town. Even the horror stories Rory told me about the alienages doesn't hold a candle to how dusters are treated," she relaxes again and allows her head to rest against the wall behind her, "When I was twelve, a group of drunk warriors-fresh off of their most recent tour of the Deep Roads- staggered into Dust Town to find a bit of fun. When I found them, they had my sister pinned up against a wall, their filthy hands all shoved up her dress. Having more stones than brains, I lobbed a rock at the ringleader and it got him upside the head pretty good. While he was cursing, I told Rica to make a run for it. They knew then that I was the one who threw the rock, so I didn't even bother trying to run. Now, I figured that they'd beat the snot out of me and that would be the end of it...but no, I could never have been that lucky..."

She closes her eyes for this part, she doesn't want to see the look of pity on his face, "They decided to have fun with me instead the moment they saw the brand on my face. The worst part of it all wasn't the rape though-they were too drunk to inflict too much damage-the worst part of it all was that there was a guard standing not twenty feet from where they were taking turns with me, laughing and cheering them on as they defiled a child. But I wasn't really a child-not to any of those sodding bastards-I was just another worthless brand who didn't have the manners to just die when my mother pushed me out, so that automatically inferred that I deserved every awful thing they did to me and so much more. When I finally made it home, my mother laughed at me and told me that since my maidenhead had been taken care of, I should start selling myself to earn some money."

"Rainne, that's terrible!" one of Alistair's larger hands is laid on her shoulder as he kneels to even their heights, "How could she-I don't-why would they-I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize for what they did to me, you weren't even there," she wearily commands, once more annoyed with his innocence and honorable intent, "Besides, they paid for what they tried to do to my sister...and for what they did to me."

His audible gulp is almost comical, "What did you do Rainne?"

"Well, I just punched my mother in the mouth. As for the esteemed warriors? Me and a few of the other girls who were sick and tired of being used as sex toys got all dolled up when we got wind of their impending visit. We lured them into one of the buildings that the whores typically used to ply their trade, then we poisoned them, slit their throats, and tossed their carcasses into a lava flow," her laughter resounds with a manic edge, causing her companion to shift uneasily, "Strangely enough, not a single one of their families dared admit that their precious warriors had ventured into the depths of Dust Town and never emerged. From what I heard, they banded together and had the Shaperate mark the entire unit as "Lost to the Deep Roads". Kind of funny, thinking back on it now."

"I don't understand what exactly is so amusing about it," he growls, anger drowning out his innate revulsion, "Enlighten me, would you?"

"It's just that their families were so arrogant that they would rather have their lost relatives remembered as incompetent warriors than ever admit that those nug humpers were dipping their dicks into dusters," the dwarf chuckles and rubs her hands together to regain some feeling in her fingers, "It all goes back to what I said though. Everyone is out for themselves. Me. You. And every other sod wandering around out there."

"Then tell me why you are still here," there is no anger directed at her this time, merely curiosity, "Sitting here with me, slowly freezing to death, can't be part of your goals."

"I am a Grey Warden now," she states matter-of-factly, "My goals have changed a lot."

"So? What are they now?" the Templar gently insists.

"Stop the Blight. Kill Loghain. Maybe find someone decent to drink along the way because you topsiders have shit taste when it comes to bad booze."


	9. Chapter 9

**REMINDER**

**My main focus is now my deviant art page, which is where I obsessively pour over things to spellcheck and whatnot. Also, sometimes I end up adding a little more to the chapters AFTER the initial posting. You can find me under the same name over there...and sometimes I will put up pics, like the ones I posted of Rainne earlier this week.**

Rainne is shaken awake by Alistair several hours later.

"Rory's healed and on his feet, we're moving out," he explains once he is confident she is conscious.

"To where? I don't remember any settlements between here and Ostagar," she mumbles while lurching to her cold numbed feet.

"Funny you should mention that, since that's where we are heading. Back to Ostagar, I mean," the Templar quietly confesses while holding an arm out to steady her as she gathers her wits about her, "Everyone I spoke to was quite taken with your idea of sneaking back to see what we could scrounge up. While the others gather supplies and search for survivors, it will give us a chance to look for the treaties."

She muffles a yawn with the back of her hand and shuffles out of the barn behind him, "How are we going to get back in? I don't figure that turning right back around and storming in with weapons drawn would be the best approach to this, unless we want to get dead. And since I joined this sodding order to escape an immediate and bloody death, I'd rather not waste my second chance so quickly and therefore vote for a more subtle approach. And by subtle, I mean the way that is the least likely to get us all killed."

"I thought as much, but thanks for pointing that out to me," he points to the east, where the sun is grudgingly rising over the horizon, "We're going to circle around from that direction, then come up from the valley where the main camps were located. Any lingering darkspawn will be less likely to scent us out that way."

"Good plan. Yours?"

"Only a little of it. Mostly it was the scouts who worked out the details. I only suggested we go for the valley camps first because they were the first things to be overrun and therefore should be empty of darkspawn by now," he sheepishly reveals, then holds out a long strip of semi clean muslin, "Take this, wrap it around your neck and face, it should serve to keep some of the wind and snow off of you."

Miming his movements, the duster winds it around her and tugs the cloth up to hide her mouth and nose. He reaches out to adjust the material when she catches a strange noise being carried on the chill breeze, "Did you hear that?"

Alistair turns an ear in the direction she indicates and pales a little when it echoes through the woods a second-then a third- time. "That sounds like a mabari. It will have some trouble tracking us with all the snow, but we shouldn't dawdle here any longer than absolutely necessary."

As they get moving, she nudges him in the side playfully, "See? I told you that you weren't stupid. I never would have been able to tell that it was a mabari in lieu of something more nefarious...like a pissed off, hungry ogre with a yen for half frozen dwarf girls."

"Well, remember that I was raised by dogs, so I'd know that sound anywhere," he winks at her before veering off to inform Neria and Rory of the newest development.

With the canine's occasional howling still reverberating through the forest, the group forges onward, thankful that they now have four able bodied Greycloaks to keep an ear out for wandering darkspawn.

By midday the cold has begun to affect everyone, making them cranky and temperamental. Rainne does her best to ignore it all-including the dire warnings her body is sending her-until she suddenly trips over a hidden root and collapses face-first into a snowdrift.

Sputtering every curse she has ever learned while she pushes up on to her knees, she suddenly freezes when she comes face to face with a large brown-black muzzle that is spewing hot clouds of steam as it pants. Scared witless, the duster dares not move until the beast emits a trembling whine, then lays in the snowbank with her and rolls over to show her its belly.

"Wait a sodding minute. You're the pup from camp, aren't you? The one that was sick?" Rainne softly queries when she spots the remnants of a leather muzzle still hanging around the dogs thick neck.

The mabari yips in confirmation, scrambles to his feet, then laves the snow covered side of her face with his tongue as she gets to work removing the tattered strips of leather.

"He must have been the one we heard howling all day," Alistair ascertains amidst the dwarf's amused chuckles and the canine's enthusiastic display of affection, "He has been searching for you, I'd imagine. Guess that means your dreams of him imprinting on you came true after all."

"I sodding hope so, with the way he's acting," she grins just as her fingers brush against a steel tag dangling from the animal's studded collar. Curious, she turns it over, "Hmm, this says that his name is Mickey. Well, Mickey the Mabari, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Sounds like the name of a circus performer to me," Alistair muses, earning himself a growl as he leans down and hefts his fellow Warden out of the snow, "What? I happens to like the circus."

Appeased, Mickey dances tight circles around his new-found mistress and her friend as they continue on their journey.

~C~H~A~P~T~E~R~B~R~E~A~K~

It takes nearly four days to make their return to Ostagar. Their progress is hindered by cold, generous amounts of darkspawn, and other people they find taking refuge in the Wilds.

Two more Grey Wardens are rescued along the way, but they succumb to their myriad of wounds before Neria-or the other two Circle mages with them-can heal them properly.

Much to everyone's chagrin, they learn soon after their demise that neither Greycloak carried the treaties.

When they finally pass through the shattered gates, the show of devastation is immediate and immense. Evidence of the carnage-even half hidden in the snow-is still enough to make more than a few members of their entourage fall to their knees and weep for all that has been lost. The rest drift apart to scavenge for anything the darkspawn may have left untouched...and to mourn in solitude.

The four Greycloaks ransack the scattered remnants of both the Warden Commander's tent and the Grey Wardens main camp, but are still left empty handed by the time the sun has fallen too far below the western horizon to see anything clearly.

Half a dozen feeble campfires twitch and flicker inside the stone skeleton of the very same structure Rainne, Alistair, and their fellow Wardens were standing in when the initial siege began.

As she walks, Rainne can spot several lean-to's that have been constructed from the salvageable pieces of the grand pavilions that once clogged the area. One of the soldiers hands her a wooden cup as she passes by, telling her that it is filled with a soup Neria and the other mages had made from a plethora of edible plants that grow with wild abandon in the area.

"I won't lie, it tastes awful, but it's warm and will fill you up a bit," the red eyed elf encourages after the dwarf observes her draining her own cup, "It's a lot like the broth they would give us at the tower when we caught a cold. Thought it was appropriate, considering our current circumstances."

Rainne, Alistair, and Rory trade suspicious glances until the dwarf shrugs and downs all of the bitter concoction in one go.

"Tastes pretty good. Thanks Neria," she states upon noticing the expressions aimed at her, "Could've used a pinch or two of salt though, in my opinion."

"I'll have to remember that for next time," the mage smirks, then shifts her scarlet gaze to the men and lifts one pale silver eyebrow in question.

Alistair is the first to break under the scrutiny. He takes a deep breath and chugs his...then instantly starts coughing and sputtering while swiping at his mouth, "You lied to us! Andraste's flaming knickers, that stuff tastes terrible!"

"But now you're a bit warmer and have something in your belly other than the handfuls of melted snow you've been munching all day," the dwarf sagely replies, her plump lips curling upward as Rory plugs his nose with one hand and drinks with the other.

"You owe me an entire wheel of cheese for that little stunt," the Templar decides after accepting an improvised wool and tent canvas cloak from one of the other mages coming over to warm themselves by the fire, "The really good stuff too. Mmm, Highever cheddar, maybe an Orlesian brie...or perhaps an Antivan barrata burro..."

"Stop it, you're actually making me want to risk a second cup of that poison," Rory whines from across the fire, where he is now sharing a bearskin cloak with two slight boned scouts, "I hope we find some food that hasn't spoiled when we cross the bridge tomorrow, otherwise I'm going to propose we eat the dwarf."

Rainne tosses a clump of snow at the elven warrior before swiveling to console Mickey when he emits a plaintive whine, "Aw, don't worry buddy, nobody is going to be havin' this duster for dinner."

"I'm not sure if it were anyone but you that he'd mind too much," Alistair interjects, "I've heard stories about some ancient cultures who would feed the hearts and livers of their enemies to their mabari, to make the beasts stronger."

The hounds yips in fear, then gags and begins frantically trying to bury himself under the back of his mistress' cloak until she hooks the ring on his collar with her fingers and hauls him around to look at her, "Hey, don't worry about what silly old Alistair says. I would never, ever feed you another person. Ever. I swear by the Stone Mickey."

"You do realize that you are talking to a dog, right?" Neria chuckles from deep inside of her patchwork cloak, "Sure, the beast is more intelligent than Alistair, but it's still a dog."

"Some loyal Fereldan Doglord you are," the dwarf grumbles, scratching between the hound's cropped ears, "Mickey here has already proven himself to be smarter than nearly every two legged person I have met. He didn't want anything to do with Alistair's, Rory's, or your cooking."

The subdued, but genuine laughter that blossoms is enough to make the ragged comrades forget about their terrible burdens for a little while. Eventually though, the companions part ways and seek out drier places to sleep for the night.

Rainne is dozing by the fire, Mickey snuggled under the right flap of her cloak, when Alistair unexpectedly seats himself against her right side and tucks her under his own cloak. "We will stay warmer if we share our heat. Besides, your chattering teeth are keeping me awake."

Too tired to formulate a suitably snarky comment, she curls into his larger frame, and is mildly surprised when she drops her head against a padded gambison instead of his usual splint mail armor.

"I had to take it off to repair a few buckles and whatnot, so I thought I'd take advantage of being able to move around like a normal person for a bit," he acquiesces in response to her unspoken query, "It's not like that paper thin leather that you bounce around in day in and day out."

"It's not my fault you are a lumbering juggernaut instead of a lithe, sexy arse bundle of awesomeness like me," the duster sleepily sniggers, earning herself a drowsy huff from the mabari, "But since you wouldn't be able to protect said arse without all that heavy armor, I won't complain or make fun of it. Much."

"Cheeky mynx," the man chortles and relaxes against the broken chuck of rock sitting behind them "Now get some rest, I have a feeling that we're going to need all of our strength tomorrow."

~C~H~A~P~T~E~R~B~R~E~A~K~

He isn't wrong.

Before a morning helping of the foul soup has a chance to cool in their bellies, they are hip deep in darkspawn bits, courtesy of a mob they had interrupted while the monsters were attempting to string the corpse of King Cailan up on the supports of the bridge.

Rainne cannot help but notice how agitated Alistair is as they cut down the broken form of the deceased monarch. In fact, his distress becomes so overt, she is finally forced to drag him away from the others in order to confront him about his behavior.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she demands, her silver blue gaze tracking the Templar as he paces like a caged mabari, "You are going to tell me what is going on right now Alistair, or I am going to whack you upside the head with that maul Rory found until you do."

"Bugger," he finally spits, then looks at her imploringly, "Please don't be mad at me for what I'm about to tell you. None of the other Wardens know either, well except Duncan, and that's because he's the Warden Commander. Um, do you remember when I said that I didn't know who my real parents were? I lied. I'm a bastard, and before you make a joke, I mean the fatherless kind. Kind of. My mother was a serving girl who worked at Redcliffe Castle, and my father was...King Maric."

It's now her turn to be confused by the rush of information. "I'm sorry to ask this, but who is this King Maric?"

He rubs a hand over his face in frustrated embarrassment, then huffs, "The King Maric? As in the last king of Ferelden? Freed us from Orlesian rule? Cailan's father? Is none of this ringing a bell? Oh Maker..."

"Holy shit! Cailan was your brother? That means you're a sodding prince!" the dwarf suddenly squeaks, then utters a muted yelp when her comrades hand suddenly clamps over her mouth. "Mhhm mmmm! Mmmhmmm-mmhm!"

"Will you stop that? Erk! Rainne, that's gross!" he hastily jerks his hand away from her face when she licks it, "Dammit, don't you dare say a word to the others, they'll start acting all weird and it will be really damn awkward and things are complicated enough without adding this to the mix."

She grins at him impishly for a few seconds before giving him a florid bow, "As you wish...my prince."

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" he asks in a defeated tone as he covers his face with his dry hand.

"Not as long as I still draw breath," she gives him a saucy wink, "And in spite of the thought of how fun caboodling with a prince might be...your secret is safe with me Alistair."

His cheeks flame their now familiar crimson as he flashes her his own grin, then his features settle back into their former grimness, "Now, we really should get back to it before I lose my last nerve and run all the way to Weishaupt."

Unable to resist one last dig as she trudges in the trench his steps create, she decides to go all out, "Well, with my shorter legs being what they are, at least I'd get a nice view of that royal ass on our way there your highness."

A strangled groan is the only reply.


	10. Chapter 10

Rainne watches Alistair as he meticulously cleans and polishes Duncan's longsword and dagger that had been recovered from the corpse of a reanimated ogre earlier in the day. "Alis-"

"He's going to want them cleaned and ready when we find him," the young human declares, his focus never deviating from the blade held in his hands, "He always says that you can tell what kind of person someone is by the condition of their weapons, and I don't want anyone to look down on him for having cruddy weapons."

"Do you want to talk about this? About Duncan?" she gently inquires in hopes of distracting her friend from his manic actions, "He was my friend Alistair, and I miss him too."

His eyes blacken with fury as they rise to meet her own gaze, "Don't you dare say was. Duncan. Is. Alive. Until someone shows me his stone cold body, there is nothing, I mean absolutely positively not one single thing, that is going to convince me that he is anything but alive and really pissed off about what happened."

"Fine, I won't. But you cannot simply sit there and polish swords while the horde-and Loghain-lay waste to your home," Rainne argues while shifting closer to the distraught man, "Alive or no, what would Duncan think of us if we did not do everything in our power to stop what is happening?"

"When we find him, he'll know what to do," Alistair desperately insists, the first tears spilling forth from his eyes.

She blows out a heavy breath, briefly wonders how sane the man is currently, then pushes onward, "Yes he will. But do the people of Ferelden have that kind of time to waste while we search for him? I highly doubt it, with all we've encountered so far. We must do something now. Enough time has been wasted already, looking for treaties that are obviously not here. Every day we throw away in hopeless pursuits ends with more people dying. People we could save, can still save, if we remember what our duty is."

"I...you're right," he concedes, his shoulders slumping out of their defensive posture as she stares him down, "If we don't keep an eye on things and do our sworn duty, he will be more than a little upset with us when we do finally find him. But who and what are we going to deal with first? I don't know how to decide."

"The darkspawn is our highest priority, obviously. Loghain is a sodding thunderhumper, but he is still just one man amongst many and his madness can be contained. The Blight could-and will-end the world if it isn't stopped," she declares, making an effort to push aside his grief inspired delusions, "Whether we have the treaties or not, we are going to have to amass another army in order to face the darkspawn before Ferelden, and everything else, is destroyed. I'm a dwarf, trust me when I say that Loghain is no more than an annoying pest in comparison to the horde and the damage it will do if left unchecked."

Alistair is silent for a long minute before giving her a solemn nod of his head, "Okay then. Urm, Lothering, Redcliffe, and South Reach are the closest towns from here that maintain their own militia. Out of them, Lothering is nearest distance wise, so we should probably stop there first."

"Isn't Lothering that foul little place we passed through on our way to Ostagar?" Neria interjects now that Alistair isn't appearing to be so unhinged, "The one that had the merchant who smelled like cabbage and refused to serve me, Rory, and Ash because we're elves?"

The human nods again, his breath hitching when the duster relieves him of the enchanted longsword of his mentor, "Sounds like the place, but we have few alternatives at this point. We need supplies and information desperately if we hope to pull any of this off. It's also likely that any others who survived the battle would have traveled through Lothering for the same reasons we are. If we are very lucky, some of them might have lingered."

"Alrighty then. Neria, you snag Rory and inform everyone that we will be setting out for Lothering after breakfast," Rainne sheathes Duncan's longsword and hands it back to Alistair, "Use it. It's better than you've been making due with, and someone less skilled can have your old one. I'm going to take his dagger, if you don't mind, since one of mine broke on the necromancer's skull."

"I think he'd want you to use it, knowing that you needed a dependable weapon. We will have to find something else by the time he gets back though," the Templar states, and she has to-again-resist the urge to grab her comrade by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, "I'm off to bed then, now that we have something that resembles a plan. Good night all."

The sentiments are repeated as he shuffles his way through the group and to his own makeshift tent.

When things finally settle and most of her comrades are snoring, Rainne sifts through her pack to retrieve several sheets of vellum, then grabs a charred stick from the fire. Once the wood has sufficiently cooled, she dampens it with some melted snow, then begins compiling a list of supplies they'll immediately need for the massive quest they are preparing to undertake.

Halfway through the second shift of watch, Rory wanders over to where the dwarf is still diligently toiling by the fire. "What in the Maker's name are you still doing awake?"

"I'm making copies of the list of stuff that we're going to need to procure in Lothering. If we split up, we'll get everything done faster, and that will put more ears out there for news as well," she leans against her pack and rubs the grime from her tired eyes, "Also, we will garner less attention if we entered town in little groupings of two or three instead of marching in as a group, looking like a mercenary gang or something. We don't have a lot of coin, so I know that at least I plan on filching whatever I can, and if we are noticed when we come in, the authorities will pay more attention to us than we can afford."

"Where did you learn all of this stuff?" the elf asks as he seats himself beside her, "I mean with all you've said about where you came from, it doesn't fit with this, this take charge side of you..."

"An old client of my mother's taught me and Rica a lot of useful stuff," she readily admits to her fellow Warden, "After he and our mother were finished with their whatever, he would get my sister and I and tutor us. Reading, writing, mathematics, you name it. Stohn never tried anything perverted or hurt us, so it was easy to deal with him...and I loved to learn new things, especially if it helped me with my goals of taking my sister to the surface."

"You keep saying was. What happened?"

"He was killed when the matriarch of his clan went after the wife of another clan patriarch. His family lost, mainly because they attacked on the day one of the rival house members was made a paragon and declared the new head of the clan. The clan house was packed full and his family was unprepared for so many defenders to be present when they barged in."

"So he died in the battle then?" he prods when her words falter.

"No. He was only a member of the clan through marriage-his brother had married into them-and wasn't allowed to fight. Not like he wanted to anyways. But when it came to the reorganization of the house, he was screwed no matter what. Because all he and his wife had ever produced were daughters-which went into her family's clan instead of his-he was fat to be trimmed when his family was absorbed. It didn't help that his wife was half human-he married her after I was born. Sometimes I think the only reason he kept visiting my mother after he got married was because of me and Rica," Rainne pauses to get her thoughts under control, then lets out a ragged breath, "Anyways, the rest of the family disappeared into the Deep Roads a few years back, only days after they announced the list of those they had executed during the take-over. The new head of the house, a completely batty blacksmith, took them down over some mad quest of hers in search of only Ancestors know what."

Rory's curtain of black hair drapes over his face when he dips his head in respect, "I'm sorry Rainne. No one deserves to die in a bout of senseless violence like that. That's how I lost my mother and my wife. Sounds like the Alienage and Dust Town aren't as different as I'd been imagining."

"We've all lost someone or something dear to us salroka, but we cannot allow that pain to drown us, lest we become the monsters ourselves...At least that's what my sister tells me."

"What do you believe?"

"I believe that a healthy dose of retribution is justified every now and again. You can always claim that it was for some greater good later on. Never let it consume you though, because you could lose yourself and what you stand for if you do," the dwarf pats his arm reassuringly, "And I sincerely hope that it doesn't happen to you because you are one of the truly intelligent people I've met up here and I'd hate to lose you."

"You're not too bad yourself duster," the elven warrior chuckles as he stands and adjusts his cloak, "Try to get some semblance of rest. The trek to Lothering will be most taxing in this weather."

After he resumes his rounds and she begins to settle in for a nap, Rainne can't help but wonder who benefited more from their conversation.

~C~H~A~P~T~E~R~B~R~E~A~K~

"And there it sits-Lothering-pretty as a painting," Alistair grimaces at the sheer volume of refugees who have invaded the dingy town, "I think it smells worse than it did before..."

"This...this is not how I remember this place," Neria comments, her crimson eyes wary as they push their way through the writhing throng.

"Well, you've seen the damage the darkspawn have already wrought," Rainne counters from behind Mickey, who is quietly clearing a path for his vertically challenged mistress, "See the desperation on their faces? Smell it in the air? This is why we must enlist aid in fighting the scourge."

"So they can go back to killing each other you mean," Rory snarks from just ahead, ignoring the confused looks the maul strapped to his back is receiving, "I'm beginning to think that this was a bad idea."

"Alistair? Hey Alistair! Over here!" a voice to their far right bugles and they collectively swing around to discover Gabriel, Ash, and the snippy swamp witch Morrigan walking towards them. "By Andraste's right arse cheek, I thought we were the only survivors!"

"Do you have the treaties, by any chance?" Rainne queries after greetings and introductions have been exchanged, "We went back to Ostagar in hopes of finding them, but we found nothing but blood and death..."

"We have them. Ash, would you do the honors?" the Cousland gestures to the archer, "He hasn't let go of that damn bag since we recovered the treaties in the first place."

In front of her, Ash wordlessly raises the haversack she recalls him showing them once before, then lifts the flap to reveal the ancient scrolls.

"We've spoken to a fair number of knights and that Templar in charge here. I would have had words with the Bann, but he is long gone," Gabriel confesses after the precious treaties have been safely tucked away, "Apparently Loghain has declared himself regent of the throne and named the Grey Wardens king-killers and agents of Orlais. There's even been a bounty placed on our heads. A whole sovereign for each Grey Warden captured or killed and brought in."

"He's expending a lot of energy, trying to discredit us," Rory muses, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, "Methinks he protests too much to be an innocent bystander in all of this."

"Anything worth doing is worth overdoing," Rainne sarcastically chuckles as they leave the clogged masses behind and enter what turns out to be the other groups encampment, "Still, our primary focus should be gathering this army and putting a stop to the Blight. The arshole-who-would-be-king can wait until we have a better idea of what he's planning."

A scarlet haired woman clad in Chantry robes bounds over to the cluster of Greycloaks, "More Grey Wardens? How wonderful! I knew the Maker would not lead me astray!"

"Okay, this is where I back away slowly, then run for my life," Rainne throws her hands up in self defense when the woman tries to hug her, unfazed when the human woman's gleeful expression melts into perplexed hurt, "Gabriel, didn't you ever learn not to make friends with people crazier than you?"

"I'm not crazy!" the Chantry sister simpers, folding her hands in supplication, "The Maker sent me a vision and bid me to do His will!"

"Do shut up, you blithering fool," Morrigan snipes, earning herself one irate scowl and several smiles of gratitude.

"I'm not a fool, you rude, foul woman!" the redhead screeches, her attention fully diverted from the Wardens.

Ignoring the ensuing verbal death match between the two women, Gabriel swipes his auburn bangs out of his emerald eyes, "You missed Bettina by less than a day. She and a qunari she conscripted left this morning to seek aid from outside of Ferelden."

"Have you seen or received word from Duncan?" Alistair suddenly interrupts, prompted into speaking at the mention of the Chaisnd mage.

"We burned his body ourselves," Ash reveals, the seldom spoke archer's eyes filling with the pained truth of his words, "We honored him like the leader and true hero he was."

With a disconcerting crash, the Templar crumples to the muddy ground. Rainne hurries to his side, "Alistair, it's going to be-"

"No, no, no, no, NO!" he wails, his fingers digging into the clay mud as he keens, "He can't be dead, I will not accept that!"

"Whether you accept it or not, we still have a job to do," she bluntly retaliates when he shakes her hand off with a hard jerk of his shoulder, "The darkspawn are not going to stop invading because our Commander is dead, so we can't either Ali. Use the fear, the grief, the pain, and aim it at those responsible. Make them pay for taking Duncan away."

"It's not fair," he warbles at the ground, "Duncan was the only person who ever cared about what I wanted, the first person to truly see me for me...and now he's gone...I don't know what to do..."

"Wonderful, now we have a blubbering Templar and a flea bitten mongrel. This is going to be such much fun," the swamp witch rolls her ocher eyes in annoyance, "I'll be packing my things, call me when it's time to quit this place."

After barely restraining herself from knocking the apostate on her face as she walks away, Rainne tugs her friend to his feet, "Come on Ali, we still have some things to purchase before we leave."

He doesn't utter a word as the duster doles out coin for goods, then drags him after her to pursue a few Chantry jobs to supplement their anemic funds. Thankfully there are enough odd jobs to go around that everyone-mainly Alistair- is kept busy into the next afternoon.


	11. Chapter 11

**I have caught a cold and am really out of it right now. I'll fix any spelling mistakes later, once I don't feel like crawling in bed and dying for a month.**

Two days after escaping the dreary and doomed town of Lothering, and rescuing a father-son team of dwarven merchants from darkspawn, the group makes the decision to part ways in order to seek out the various treaty recipients.

They draw sticks to choose groups. Rory, Ash, and Morrgian will head southwest, to the Dalish. Gabriel, Neria, Leliana, and Ox-Gabriel's mabari-will move northwest, to Redcliffe, and appeal to Arl Eamon while Rainne, Alistair, and Mickey travel to Kinloch Hold to speak with the mages.

The soldiers and scouts that have joined the Grey Wardens cause will spread out across Ferelden in the meantime, visiting nobles and influential freeholders whose support-and supplies-will the keep the Greycloaks armored and fed while they deal with the Blight.

"You know, I'm not sure that I'm liking this plan," Alistair complains after they veer off from the group at the Spoiled Princess, "It feels wrong, to split up after everything that has happened."

Rainne curls deeper into her cloak in a vain effort to ward off the bitter winds across Lake Calenhad, "I don't like it any more than you do, but this has to be done, else we'd spend years marching back and forth across the country. Regardless, we'll soon be inside of a warm tower with lots of warm fires. That has to be better than all this crap, yes?"

"Definitely," he agrees as they pad along the creaky docks and spot a young Templar guarding the ferry, "Since when did Templars become ferrymen?"

The man in question overhears the last part of the question and puffs out his chest, "I am a Templar Ser, not a ferryman. If you are hoping to travel to the tower, I'm afraid that's not possible right now."

"We're on Grey Warden business," the duster explains and brandishes the antiquated scroll, "Please, let us pass, many lives are at stake here Ser."

He scarcely glances at the parchment before he huffs in derision, "How do I know this is not some elaborate forgery? I mean if I showed you papers that said that I was the Queen of Antiva, would you believe me?"

"Urm, no offense your highness, but are you qualified to make the decision on whether or not Grey Wardens are allowed to visit the tower?" the duster challenges in a worried tone, "Isn't that something the First Enchanter or the Knight-Commander usually decides?"

Before he can answer, Alistair steps forward, "I'm fairly certain that Knight-Commander Greagoir, would be very cross with you if you did not permit him to accept or deny us of his own volition, but it's fine. I've heard many tales of his mercy and understanding when one under his command has disobeyed a direct order. I'm certain that he will understand why you made this decision for him. I bet he will even thank you for taking the initiative and saving him the time and trouble of seeing us himself. I-"

"Alright, alright, get in the boat!" the other human shouts and frantically motions for them to obey.

Mickey utters a whine of trepidation and cringes back from the creaky vessel when it's his turn to board, but scrambles after his mistress when she threatens to leave him behind with the not so dog loving proprietor of the lakeside inn.

~C~H~A~P~T~E~R~B~R~E~A~K~

The very first thing Rainne notices about the mage tower is the smell. The scent of old, musty books coupled with the ashy aroma of a roaring fireplace stirs fond memories of longs hours spent with her sister as they learned under the gently tutelage of their alleged father.

"How in the black City did you get in here?" a man in ornate full plate armor bellows as they enter the Templar filled grand foyer.

The dwarf produces the scroll a second time and hands it to the human, "This treaty promises the aid of the Circle mages to the Grey Wardens in the eventuality that another Blight arises. We've come to collect on that debt Ser."

"You've certainly chosen a bad time to come then Warden," the elder man states while glossing over the page, "Even if Teyrn Loghain hadn't named you enemies of the Crown, we are currently embroiled in a situation that prevents us from aiding you, I'm sorry to say. Someone will escort to back to the docks. Good luck Wardens, may the Maker watch over you."

A woman comes over to lead them away, but Rainne pushes passed her, "Wait a sodding minute! What situation could be worse than the sodding darkspawn overrunning the world? Whatever it is, we'll help you get it taken care of. In return, we want the mages aid-and the Templars-to help us put down this threat."

"I'm sorry, that will not be possible," he replies over his shoulder.

"What do you have to lose that the Blight won't destroy when it comes this way and swallows you up along with everything else?" Alistair gravely counters, his eyes boring into the man's back.

Greagoir pauses, then swivels around, "Several mages who survived the massacre at Ostagar made it back to the tower. Two days ago, those same mages led a revolt against us. A number of them resorted to blood magic when they realized their coup was a failure...others began calling demons."

And? Where can we help then?"

"Nowhere. The tower has been overrun by demons and abominations," the Knight-Commander faces loses its stoic expression as he blows out a defeated sigh, "I've been left with no other option than to seal off the tower and wait for the Right of Annulment to be approved from the Revered Mother in Denerim."

"You can't just kill everyone!" Alistair explodes, storming forward to face the elder Templar, "There are innocent people-children-locked in there! Let us go in and save who we can before you begin your own murder spree!"

"I-," Greagoir goes silent for a few moments before nodding to himself, "Fine. Go save who you can, if indeed there is anyone left alive and uncorrupted. But those doors will only open again for two reasons. One is if you have the First Enchanter with you. The second is when the Right is approved. Pray that you find Irving alive before that time, or you will join the list of the dead, as the Right dictates."

"We will not fail," Rainne vows, then carefully scans the room, "But fulfilling that promise might be easier if we are fully stocked when we go in, if you catch my drift."

Greagoir points out another human man, "He's the Quartermaster and will get you what you need. Make haste though, I move as soon as the Right is in my hands."

"Noted," Alistair calls over his shoulder as he sets off after the duster and her hound.

An hour later, the heavy doors bang shut at their backs, the movement stirring up the odor of magic, fire, and cooking meat.

Rainne's stomach gurgles a loud rumble, inciting a look of revulsion out of her fellow Warden. "Sorry, I can't help it! I haven't eaten since last night!"

"You are one sick, twisted woman," Alistair half jokingly accuses while drawing his shield up to cover their advance, "I'm not so worried about the dog eating someone now, though I can't tell if that should be a comfort or not. Guess it's a good thing that I find those traits admirable in crazy dwarf women."

Mickey coughs out a sound that resembles a cross between a bark and a laugh at the Templar's quip, but his mistress isn't nearly as amused. "Go ahead, laugh it up boys. I'm sure that I could talk Neria into making more of her soup when we catch up."

Not another word is uttered until they happen upon a handful of mages that are rallying around a dozen frightened children.

"Stay back or I will kill you where you stand," an elder, white haired human woman warns and raises her staff as it begins to blue with power.

"Wynne, it's me," Alistair sheathes his sword and shoulders his shield, "We met at Ostagar, had a lengthy discussion about which wines and cheeses were most compatible with one another. Do you remember that?"

The blue nimbus dissolves around the woman, "Alistair? What are you doing here? How did-"

"Never mind all of that. Right now we have to find the First Enchanter and take him to Greagoir before the Right of Annulment is approved," Rainne interjects after her companion gives an abbreviated explanation of how they survived Ostagar and why they are in the tower, "Do you have any idea of where Irving could be?"

"He was overseeing a Harrowing when Uldred and his people attacked," the senior enchanter reveals, "He may have locked himself-and the others who were assisting-up there. The Harrowing chamber is at the very top of the tower, so we will have to fight our way there."

"What choice do we have?" the dwarf mumbles to herself, then looks up at the woman, "Alistair and I can get there. We'll send anyone that we find down to this chamber."

Wynne raises herself up defensively, "I am going with you Wardens. You will need a mage to help you discern who is a friend or a foe. I'm also a skilled healer, I can patch up those who have been wounded so they will not require an escort down."

Alistair aims the silent question to Rainne, who nods her agreement, "Can do. Are there enough mages here to protect the nuggets if we would miss anything?"

"Yes, though I will replace this barrier once we are on the other side to give the a little more protection. Petra knows how to activate and deactivate it," the elder mage explains as she dispels the wall of azure energy that filled the doorway, "Now let us make haste, Greagoir is not a man known for his patience once his course is set."


End file.
